


Love is a Colour

by Stayyounggodancing



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fanfiction, Fiction, M/M, Male/Male, Romance, larry stylinson - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stayyounggodancing/pseuds/Stayyounggodancing
Summary: Harry has issues. Anger issues. So, his parents send him off to a correction school to see if it can change his ways. However, he doesn’t believe he can change. All he is is just a disaster waiting to happen. Until he meets Louis. Louis has a bit of a mental problem, caused by an accident when he was younger that impairs his mental capabilities and having clear speech- that’s what the doctors say, though. The doctors said there’s little chance that he will ever be ‘normal’ again. The only way he can clearly communicate is through music. Singing, playing instruments, writing lyrics, he does it as much as he can just to be understood. Can Harry bring him back?





	

~Harry’s POV~

 

The walls were white. That’s what Harry first noticed about his room at Larkin Correction School. A small desk sat in the corner with a white lamp atop of it. White. Everything was the blasted pale colour. It was supposedly to help keep him calm, but if anything, it just made Harry irritated. There was a strong smell of some bacterial cleaner that made Harry’s nose itch. He wanted no more than to go back home. Home… 300 miles away. If Harry hadn’t known any better, he would assume that his parents had sent him here to make his anger issues disappear. But he knew it was because they wanted to get rid of him- at least for a substantial amount of time. He had no idea how long he would be here, but he was going to go for as short a time as possible. Even if it meant pretending he was okay when he knew he wasn’t. So what was the use of trying to get better when he knew something would set him off anyway? It made sense to him, so he went with it.  
Harry set his bags down by the bunk, and then took a seat on the stiff white mattress. His roommate hadn’t gotten here yet; if he was supposed to have one, anyway. He was glad for the temporary solitude. He had not gotten much of it at his home, so to experience it now was a huge relief. Slow breaths, in, out. Relax, Harry. He didn’t even know why he was worked up. It was only a room, only a correction facility, and he was currently the only one in the room. Everything was going to be fine.  
Before being shown to his room, Harry was briefed through the rules of the school- which were like the ones as his old academy, so he tuned them out. Each dorm hallway supposedly had one specific case down each one, but Harry highly doubted it. It would be suicide to put kids with anger problems in the same hallway, much less the same dorm.  
Harry decided to put his stuff away before anyone came and disturbed him. He started with his bed, laying out his dark blue sheets, tucking the ends under the corners and the sides of the mattress. He put his dark silver cased pillows at one end of the bed, and his plush black duvet, folded, at the other end. He tweaked the pillows a little, making sure they looked neat and that there were no wrinkles.  
Once he was satisfied with how it looked, he set to putting his clothes away. Socks and boxers in the top drawer, shirts in the middle drawer, and trousers in the bottom. He lined his shoes up meticulously by the shorter end of the bed.  
Ironically, cleaning calmed Harry, but it was something that he didn’t prefer to do as one of his ‘activities’ while he was here. It was good only in moderation. Harry only kept his room neat and orderly. As far as he was concerned, the other rooms were other people’s responsibility. That’s why he chose to take music lessons. The white and black ivory keys of the piano always seemed to speak to him, but when he sat down at the bench, he realized that he had no idea how to play the instrument. Tunes would play in his head, but when he tried to play them out, the chords clashed and nothing sounded right.  
There was a timid knock at the door, and then it opened. A thin boy with messy dark brown- almost black- hair stuck his head through the opening of the door. He had dark brown eyes, and the beginnings of stubble, which made him look about eighteen or nineteen in age.  
“Um… Is it alright if I come in?” He asked, voice so quiet Harry hardly heard him. His voice was light and soft, and he was biting his lip in anxiety.  
“Sure,” was Harry’s simple reply.  
Harry wasn’t one to be talkative, so he was silent as the toothpick-thin boy made his way into the room. Karen, the head counselor, followed soon after. She was a bigger woman, with kindly green eyes. She smiled at Harry. He nodded back in return.  
“Harry, this is your room mate, Zayn. He’s a bit shy, so it will take some time for him to warm up to you. He’ll be your roommate for the rest of the year, so I advise that you two get to know each other.” Karen said, and then left the room.  
Zayn stood awkwardly in the middle of the small space, not quite sure what to do. Harry figured he’d take the nice approach so he wouldn’t freak this kid out, flashing him an all-white dimpled smile.  
“Wh-which dresser did you take?” Zayn inquired, switching his weight from one foot to the other.  
“The one on the left.” Harry replied, and then went to lay on his bed. Zayn nodded. He quickly and quietly put his belongings away.  
He’s not too bad, Harry thought, observing his room mate. He’s quiet, and from the looks of it, he’s neat. Harry closed his eyes, smiling a little. Time for a short nap. He needed his rest, since classes started tomorrow. He could deal with this. 

 

When Harry “received” his schedule- meaning it was slid under the door- he picked it up after shuffling out of bed in only his boxers. He squinted at it, sleep still blurring his vision. The first thing he saw was that he had ‘Intro to Art’ first period. Art? He didn’t sign up for that. There wasn’t an artistic bone in his body.  
It appeared Zayn was an early riser as well, because he heard a whoop of excitement from beside him. Harry looked over at the boy, frowning slightly.  
“I’ve got art.” Zayn said proudly, showing the curly-headed boy his schedule. Sure thing, Zayn had the same class.  
“Huh.” Harry grunted, folding up his schedule and shoving it in his back pocket. He shuffled to his dresser and grabbed a random pair of trousers, a t-shirt, and some clean underwear; he retreated to the bathroom that was connected to their room to change.


End file.
